


Flightless Bird, American Mouth

by sequence_fairy, uneventfulhouses



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Watcher Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Alternate Universe - Wings, Friends to Lovers, M/M, and they were quarantined, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:34:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23636902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sequence_fairy/pseuds/sequence_fairy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/uneventfulhouses/pseuds/uneventfulhouses
Summary: “Hey,” Shane says, standing near the couch. “Look what I found.” Shane uncurls his fingers to show Ryan the feathers on his palm.Ryan looks up from his phone and for one spectacular moment, his eyes widen like a comic book character. His expression shutters just as swiftly.“Those’re neat,” Ryan says, going back to his phone screen. “Where’d you find ‘em?”“In the office,” Shane says. “I found one in the kitchen yesterday. Thought they were from one of Obi’s toys, but I really don’t think so.”“Mm,” Ryan says, not looking up from his lap.Ryan's got a secret. Perhaps bunking in with Shane while the world locks down around them is not the best situation for continuing to keep that secret.
Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Comments: 72
Kudos: 519





	Flightless Bird, American Mouth

**Author's Note:**

> Almost exactly one month ago, Yesi DM'd me with 'I need more wings in fics'. Then the world went insane and here we are with eighteen thousand words about that. 
> 
> Thanks to the book club server for cheering us on and sponsoring 'finish a WIP Monday'. Thanks also to [Mel](http://justcourbeau.tumblr.com), [Ember](http://emberglows.tumblr.com) and [Katie](http://arostinebfu.tumblr.com) for the beta help.

_and to follow them I burn’d_

_And ached for wings_

  
  
  


Every day, the news is more and more full of ‘don’t touch each other’ and ‘stand six feet apart’ and ‘don’t travel’ and ‘don’t breathe on your neighbours’. 

When things start to get more serious and the advice starts being ‘work from home’ and ‘don’t go out’ and ‘stop hoarding supplies’, Steven, Ryan, and Shane close the Watcher office, send everyone home, and then prepare to ride out this period of forced isolation separately together. 

Steven heads out with a wave and a reminder to call into the early touchpoint in the morning. Shane watches Ryan watch him go. 

“You can bunk in with me,” Shane offers, when he catches Ryan just before they both leave. Ryan’s looking a little lost around the edges, like he’s not quite sure how to reconcile being together but being apart in the way that the news keeps telling them to be. Ryan’s face tilts up, catching Shane’s gaze. 

It's a no-brainer for Ryan to stay at Shane's. They've got work. Easier to do it when they're together, and they spend all this time together anyway; what's a week or so of hanging out while the world turns on its head? Shane can’t think of anyone he’d rather spend a bunch of time with.

“Yeah, okay,” Ryan says, and they go home together, stopping off at Ryan’s to pick up a few things he might need for a couple of days at Shane’s.

A couple of days turns into a week, turns into two, turns into almost three, and then the first of the official Shelter in Place orders goes out for a neighbouring county, and Ryan's shoulders tighten. Shane sees it happen as the announcement blares across the made-for-TV movie neither of them are watching. Ryan shifts, and tension bleeds into the space between them. 

"We've got lots of supplies," Shane says, trying to ease what he thinks might be Ryan's worry. "You're more than welcome to stay. It'd be just Obi and me otherwise."

“Yeah?” Ryan turns to look up at him, smiling tightly. Shane shrugs. “Yeah, okay. I can go home and grab some more clothes so I’m not living in your stuff.” 

“I don’t mind,” Shane says easily, because he really doesn’t. 

“I know you don’t, big guy, but I should get—get some of my things, so you don’t resent me three days in for wearing your favorite or something,” he says, smile open and easy, stressless and familiar. Shane laughs. 

“Joke’s on you, they’re all my favorite. Just be careful and hurry back, alright?” 

Shane mutes the TV. 

Ryan’s up off the couch quickly, grabbing his keys and shoving on his shoes, front door shutting behind him with a soft thud. 

Shane looks at Obi where he’s sitting in a patch of sunlit carpet. 

“It’ll be fine right? I can handle Ryan one on one for another few weeks,” Shane says out loud, and Obi doesn’t even spare him a glance. 

About par for the course. 

Shane is still working, laptop on his knees, when Ryan comes back with a small, overstuffed suitcase, leaving it by the door. He’s carrying bags of take out, and Shane grins up at him from the couch. 

“Figured we should probably eat, right?” Ryan says, slumping onto the couch and digging through the bag. He pulls out tacos and burritos and crunch wraps. 

They dig in. Shane watches as Ryan licks hot sauce off his fingers. He looks away before Ryan catches him. 

-:-

The next day, Shane finds a black feather in the corner of the kitchen. He chalks it up to belonging to one of Obi’s toys and sweeps it into the kitchen garbage with the rest of the dustpan. 

Shane finds another cache of feathers in his home office the next day, huddled in the corner of the room. He sets down the books he’d been sorting through—because there’s nothing like a long, forced stay inside your house to make you want to go through piles of shit you’ve kept since college—and crouches down to look at them. They’re black, but with an iridescent sheen almost. In the way that ravens sometimes shimmer in the sunset light. 

Shane reaches out, half-convinced he’s seeing things. He touches them with one finger. They’re soft, and feel real, and not like the down that sometimes comes out of Obi’s toys. He gathers them up into the palm of his hand and walks back out to the living room to where Ryan’s playing a game on his phone while the news anchor rattles off the list of no-longer-considered-essential businesses that are now closing. 

“Hey,” Shane says, standing near the couch. “Look what I found.” Shane uncurls his fingers to show Ryan the feathers on his palm. 

Ryan looks up from his phone and for one spectacular moment, his eyes widen like a comic book character. His expression shutters just as swiftly. 

“Those’re neat,” Ryan says, going back to his phone screen. “Where’d you find ‘em?” 

“In the office,” Shane says. “I found one in the kitchen yesterday. Thought they were from one of Obi’s toys, but I really don’t think so.” 

“Mm,” Ryan says, not looking up from his lap. 

Shane looks down at the feathers in his palm. He closes his fist around them. Fine. If Ryan doesn’t care about the feathers, then Shane will just throw them out like the one he found yesterday. He leaves Ryan on the couch and bins the handful of feathers. He stands in the kitchen, under the harsh glare of the overhead light for a long time. 

It’s irrational for Shane to be mad about Ryan not being interested in the feathers. The fridge turns on with a click. Shane flexes his hands against the countertop. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slow, letting his head tip forward so his chin rests on his chest. They’re just living in each other’s pockets after not doing it for a while, and neither of them are used to it like they were. That’s all this is. Shane stands up and shoves one hand through his hair. He shakes himself and goes back out into the living room. 

Ryan smiles up at him, and Shane feels the usual bolt of warmth through his middle at the expression.

The next time Shane finds a bunch of feathers, they’re swept into the corner of the sliding door out to the balcony. “Where are these feathers fucking coming from?” he asks the apartment at large, not really expecting Ryan to answer, but he’s really starting to think that maybe they’ve got an invisible bird or something. 

“Dunno, man,” Ryan says, from right behind him. Shane manages not to react violently to the startle. “It’s your house.” 

They both look down at the feathers, and then at each other. 

Shane’s not sure who starts laughing first, but eventually he has to sit down, leaning against the glass of the patio door, because he can’t hold himself up anymore. The laughter feels good. Feels like some kind of defiance in the face of everything. Shane wants to bottle the warmth that bleeds up through his chest at the way Ryan’s eyes squeeze shut and his head tips back, until he’s flat on his back, wheezing in between giggles. 

And it’s fine. It’s fine. Right up until it is suddenly not. 

-:-

Ryan wakes up on Shane’s couch with a pain in his back. He sits up slow and careful, moving his shoulders gingerly and twisting gently through his spine. The ache remains, high up, between his shoulder blades. It’s not too bad now, but Ryan knows it’ll get worse. It will get so much worse. 

That day goes fine and so do the next three. 

By the end of the third day, Ryan’s itchy under his skin, restless. He knows what he needs to do, but there’s nowhere to do it here. He catches himself standing at the sliding door to Shane’s balcony, staring out at the blue sky. Other birds flap lazily across the expanse of it, and Ryan wants, desperately, to join them.

Any other time, he’d be able to slip out of the city, get out into the flatlands and stretch out. But he can’t now. The city’s practically on lockdown; they can barely leave the house. There’s no room in here to stretch properly. At least not where Shane can’t see. Ryan hitches his shoulders, shifting on the couch. 

Shane looks over at him. They’ve been watching a movie, but Ryan hasn’t seen any of it really, too focused on the bleeding ache spreading across his back. He’s not sleeping well; hasn’t been for the last couple of days. He’s been passing it off as the usual level of anxiety, as the number of cases grow day over day and the restrictions tighten. 

Ryan gives Shane a wan smile back.

“You doing okay over there?” Shane asks. He leans forward in his seat and reaches out to drop a comforting hand on Ryan’s knee. Ryan startles at the contact. Shane squeezes Ryan’s knee before he lets go. 

“Oh, uh, yeah, ‘m fine,” Ryan says. Shane doesn’t press, but his gaze lingers for long enough that Ryan wants to fidget under the weight of it. 

Shane eases back after a moment, and Ryan feels himself sink back into the couch cushions. They’re sitting close, but not that close. He can’t quite feel the heat of Shane’s thigh against his, but suddenly, it’s too much. 

Ryan stands, abruptly. Shane looks up at him from the couch but Ryan just marches himself into the bathroom and locks the door behind him. His shoulders ache. His back hurts. His hands have started to tingle when he’s still for too long. All he wants to do is go the fuck outside. Like, the real outside. The outside where he can figuratively let his hair down and literally stretch out. 

But he can’t. They can’t. Ryan slides down the bathroom door, and curls over his knees, face in his hands. His heart thuds in his ears. He squeezes his eyes shut, willing himself back to something closer to an even keel. He breathes, counting the seconds, until he feels like he can sit next to Shane again. 

When he’s done, he stands, and runs the tap, splashing cold water on his face. The ache in his shoulders remains but there’s nothing to be done about it. He’ll have to bear it. How much longer can this go on for? 

-:-

Shane wakes him up the next morning with his phone in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other. “You slept through the emergency broadcast thing,” Shane says, and brings his mug of coffee to his mouth. “Stay At Home order’s been extended.”

Ryan rubs his eyes. His shoulders hunch up around his ears. “How much longer?” Ryan asks, knowing he sounds miserable but unable to stop himself. 

Shane hands Ryan his phone. The screen lays it out in naked detail. Schools and non-essential workplaces closed indefinitely, all public gatherings suspended until the end of June, and with them, the extension of the Stay At Home orders until the same date. Ryan shudders. He can’t wait that long. 

“Overkill, maybe?” Ryan says, handing Shane back his phone. 

“No, Ryan,” Shane says, serious. “This is the only way to stop people from fucking dying.” 

“It just seems like so long?” 

“Haven’t you been paying attention at all? The only way to keep this thing from decimating the city is to flatten the curve enough to keep the hospitals from getting overwhelmed. This isn’t, like, some fucking game people are playing.” 

“Jesus, Shane, no need to get pissy about it,” Ryan says, and drops Shane’s phone onto the coffee table. “I’m just tired of being trapped inside.” 

“So, go out on the balcony,” Shane suggests, and then he turns to leave the room. 

“It’s not the same,” Ryan says, mostly to himself but loud enough that he means for Shane to hear. 

Shane stops, in the archway between the kitchen proper and the little nook his table has been set into. “I know, buddy,” Shane says. “But it’s what we’ve got.” 

Ryan looks out the patio door, eyes on the sky. More than the ache between his shoulder blades, Ryan aches to be out there, wind in his hair, and the sprawl of the city far beneath him. 

Later, Ryan makes them a can of soup and lets Shane pick a trashy TV show they can both laugh at and tries his hardest not to notice the way Shane’s eyes keep straying from the screen and over to Ryan. It’s hard enough to pay attention to the screen when his spine feels like someone has ratcheted it too tightly, and his shoulders feel like they’re bunched up under his ears, but having to additionally contend with Shane glancing at him, quick and careful, every few seconds, is almost too much to bear. 

Shane goes to bed early, and Ryan lies awake on the couch, rolled onto his stomach, unable to lie on his back because even his own body weight is uncomfortable. He won’t sleep like this, will have to roll onto his side, facing the back of the couch, balancing on the edge of the cushions, but at least it doesn’t actively feel worse than any other position. 

He’s been unfair to Shane, Ryan knows. Shane thinks Ryan’s just stir-crazy at being housebound, and is putting up with far more than Ryan really deserves. The apartment is half-dark; Shane’s left the kitchen light on for Ryan, ‘cause Ryan had said he would turn it off when he turned in. Ryan pushes himself up to sitting. 

He could, maybe, stretch out here in the living room. Could maybe unfurl his wings fully, but also, Shane could wake up for a glass of water, and then where would he be? He can hang on, just a little longer, until he can figure out how to break the lock on the rooftop access. Or until this all blows over and they can all go outside again.

-:-

Shane’s getting kind of tired of Ryan’s shit the last few days. Every single conversation has devolved into a fight, and they’re getting to the point where it’s easier and easier to let the nastiness rise instead of swallowing it down. 

They’ve spent time in close quarters before, but never like this, and Shane’s starting to feel wound as tightly as a drum. Ryan’s napping, because Shane sent him to bed an hour ago, after Ryan had whined about not wanting to have fried egg sandwiches for dinner again this week, and Shane had had to bite his tongue around the harangue he could feel building in his chest. 

Something’s going on with Ryan. It’s more than just the usual anxiety. Shane’s attuned to Ryan’s moods, but this is a new one. There’s a new kind of tension in Ryan’s shoulders, and sometimes, when Ryan thinks Shane isn’t looking, there’s a pinched look to his face, like he’s in pain. Shane’s couch isn’t the most comfortable place to sleep for any real length of time, but Ryan has insisted, and Shane can only seem to manage to hustle Ryan into taking advantage of the perfectly good bed in Shane’s room when Shane’s not in it. It’s maddening. 

Ryan emerges from his nap, hair tousled and eyes still sleepy-soft. Shane looks up from the book he’s been half-reading. “Sleep well?” 

Ryan shrugs, trying for non-commital, but Shane clocks the wince that Ryan tries to hastily smooth out. Shane slides the ripped piece of envelope he’s been using as a bookmark in between the pages of the book and closes it in his lap. He looks back up at Ryan, feeling his eyes narrow as he takes in Ryan’s tense posture. Ryan looks like he’s in the kind of pain that means something is deeply wrong. Shane wracks his brain for what injury Ryan might’ve suffered, and comes up empty. 

Ryan shifts, lifting first one shoulder and then the other. This time, Shane watches as Ryan’s jaw tightens against something. Maybe it is the couch. Shane should try harder to share the bed. They could take turns sleeping on the couch. There’s no reason for Ryan to kill his back in some misguided attempt to not take up too much space in Shane’s apartment. It’s too late for that anyway. 

Ryan takes up all kinds of space in Shane’s everything. 

“You look sore,” Shane says.

“Yeah,” Ryan agrees, “did something to my back.” He hitches one shoulder up again, like he’s trying to stretch without stretching. 

“You wanna take turns on the couch?” Shane says. Really, he should have thought of this weeks ago, but he’s had a lot on his mind. 

“I don’t wanna put you out,” Ryan replies. 

Shane shakes his head. “It’s nothing. You can sleep in there tonight, I’ll take my turn tomorrow. Just make sure you close the door or Obi will try to suffocate you in your sleep.” 

From his patch of sunlight on the floor near the patio door, Obi looks over the sound of his name. He blinks at both of them, and then goes back to watching outside.

Ryan cracks a grin, but it’s barely a shadow of his usual one. Their phones go off simultaneously; another emergency alert. Shane stabs at the screen of his to silence it, and watches out of the corner of his eye as Ryan does the same. 

They both read the message. Ryan sinks slowly down to sit next to Shane as he does. 

“Well,” Shane says, into the silence after a long moment. “That sucks.” 

City parks, state parks, national parks in the state, all closed. Shane’s half-thought out plan to get Ryan out into nature goes up in smoke. 

Shane looks over at Ryan and finds him looking back. 

“I need—” Ryan starts, but doesn’t finish. Instead, he reaches up and scrubs a hand through his hair. He closes his eyes. Shane’s close enough that he can see the fan of Ryan’s lashes on his cheek. He’s close enough that he can read the tightening of Ryan’s jaw.

“Ry?” 

“Never mind,” Ryan says, and pushes himself up off the couch and slips out the sliding door onto the balcony. 

The next three days are a series of escalating fights about nothing, and Shane is stretched to the absolute limit of his patience. Every word he says to Ryan seems to start a fight. They haven’t spoken more than clipped sentences to each other this whole day, and Ryan has spent most of it colonizing the balcony. 

He’s still out there now, as the sky darkens, earbuds crammed into his ears and laptop on his lap. Shane knows he’s not working though, because Ryan hasn’t done anything other than stare at the stretch of sky overhead for the last hour. 

Shane swallows and makes up his mind. He slides the door back far enough that he can stick half his body through and gets Ryan’s attention. “Dinner,” he says, exaggerating the shape of the word so even if Ryan can’t hear him, he can read his lips. 

“Not hungry,” Ryan answers, and goes back to staring out at the sky. 

“Come on, buddy,” Shane says, “you gotta eat.” 

“I said I wasn’t hungry, Shane,” Ryan snaps. 

Shane sighs. “Ryan.”

Ryan levels Shane with a look that Shane’s surprised doesn’t melt the skin off his bones. 

Shane leans back in and shuts the door with more force than is strictly necessary. Ryan’s glare follows Shane into the kitchen, and then back to the couch where Shane drops, plate in hand. Ryan’s plate is noticeably left on the counter. 

Shane eats in silence, watches a show in silence, does the dishes in silence. He does not look out at Ryan on the balcony, laptop set on the ground beside him now, eyes closed and head tipped back. He does not.

-:-

Later, Ryan comes in and shuts the sliding door behind him. Shane’s put the leftovers in the fridge and gone to bed. It’s not Shane’s night for his bedroom, but Ryan decides not to say anything about it, and flattens himself out on the couch. He closes his eyes, and tries not to think about this afternoon’s breeze in his hair. 

It’s impossible not to. 

Ryan’s not sure he sleeps.

-:-

“Morning,” Shane says, and Ryan jumps a foot in the air. There’s a beat before Shane laughs, leaning against the counter. 

“Fucking Christ,” Ryan says, pressing one hand to the centre of his chest. His heart beats hummingbird fast behind his ribs. “You scared the shit out of me,” Ryan complains. 

“You’re too easy,” Shane says, and reaches across Ryan for his own mug. Shane’s arm brushes against Ryan’s and the touch sends a ricochet of sensation along Ryan’s nerves. He tenses instinctively, shifting back minutely from the touch. It’s too much, right now. 

Shane pauses, and draws his arm back, careful to keep his distance. The tension-breaking moment of levity was just that, a moment. 

They make coffee in silence. Shane keeps his eyes on his mug. Ryan scrubs a hand down his face. He should say something, should apologize, but he can’t exactly tell Shane why he’s been acting like this. Shane picks up his mug once he’s finished with it and brings it to his mouth. The morning light catches him around the edges, gilding him. Ryan looks away.

Later, when they’re both working, Ryan looks up from his laptop to find Shane watching him from the other side of the dining room table. As soon as Ryan makes eye contact, Shane looks back down at his screen. Ryan goes back to his own work, but sees none of it. He knows he’s been snappy with Shane and that it’s undeserved, but Shane’s the only one around, and Ryan’s shoulders _ache._

They’re keeping their distance in a way that they never have. Even sitting next to each other on the couch to watch a movie feels like there’s an abyss between them. 

Shane falls asleep halfway through the movie. Ryan puts another movie on, and Shane doesn’t stir. 

Pain rides up Ryan’s spine when he settles back against the couch. It makes him gasp and curl forward. He cannot go on like this. He thought he could maybe, but now? Tonight? He can’t bear it any longer. Resting his elbows on his thighs, Ryan thinks. 

He could go into the bedroom. It’s big enough. Maybe. The door shuts. If he’s quiet, Shane won’t wake up. If he’s not quiet—

A spike of anxiety makes Ryan’s heart trip over itself in his chest. 

Ryan leaves the movie playing even though Shane’s fallen asleep on his side of the couch, feet up on the coffee table and arms crossed over his chest. His head is drooped down, and there’s no way he’s comfortable, and as much as Ryan wants to rearrange him, he doesn’t out of the debilitating fear that Shane will wake up and he’ll miss his chance. 

Carefully, he stands, sparing a glance towards Shane. He doesn’t stir. Feeling somewhat at ease, Ryan rounds the couch and walks down the hallway, closing the door of Shane’s bedroom behind himself. The door shuts with a click. 

The ache in his back is near unbearable at this point; he’s done his best to _shoulder_ it, but it’s almost impossible to ignore the dull, throbbing pain that’s made him extraordinarily uncomfortable. 

Every time he stands out on the balcony with Shane, or by himself, all he can think about is how much he wants to leap into the air, how much he wants to stretch out and feel the way his wings catch and hold his weight, displacing the air as he _flies_ . He misses the feeling, like he’s unable to use his fingers to write, or his legs to walk, or his tongue to speak. A part of him has been muted, and right now he wants to be so, _so_ loud. 

Ryan closes his eyes. The door is shut. Shane is asleep. Now is the time. 

With a deep breath, he lets them unfurl. It happens too quickly, his control shot by how long it’s been since the last time he was able to open up fully. 

The wings burst through his skin, and he manages to muffle his groan with his fist. He bites down against his knuckles, the relief so palpable he thinks he could levitate from the weight lifting off his shoulders. He tries to rein himself in, but it doesn’t seem to matter since the sheer size of the wings takes up all the space in the bedroom, curving as they reach each wall on either side of him. 

Accidentally, a wing catches the lampshade and knocks the whole lamp over, spilling the contents of Shane’s nightstand with it. The crash is loud in his ears. Ryan freezes, but his wings ruffle, tremble, shake. Shane’s a heavy sleeper, and Ryan prays and prays that Shane sleeps through this. 

Feathers float to the ground and the apartment is quiet. Ryan holds his breath.

The door creaks when it opens, and Ryan looks up and over his shoulder and finds Shane standing frozen in the doorway, staring at him. He blinks once, then twice. 

“Shane, I—” 

“Nope,” he says, cutting off Ryan’s explanation, and shuts the door. Ryan barely hears the pad of Shane’s footsteps back into the living room over the roar of his own blood through his ears.

Alone, Ryan expels a deep breath. “Fuck.” 

The momentary feeling of freedom is too good. Having to hide his wings away again is just going to make him miss them more. It’s too soon to put them away. Granted, expanding them like this is not enough; his shoulders still ache with the weight of them, with how badly he’d like to lift himself into the air and soar. It’ll have to be enough, though, because he isn’t allowed anything else. 

The knot high on his spine eases, the ache slowly seeping out of him. Ryan stands in the center of the bedroom, alone with the fast, fast, fast beat of his heart and the memory of the stoic, blank look on Shane’s face. 

He only allows himself a few more minutes of pseudo-freedom before pulling his wings back in, shifting his shoulders until they disappear again. 

Rather than go back into the living room to face Shane, Ryan heads straight to the bathroom instead and hides under the guise of the shower. The pounding water soothes the residual ache in his shoulders, but does nothing to help the new hollow place in his gut.

When he comes out, the living room is dark, and Shane’s gone. The TV is off, and Ryan’s blankets and pillow are settled on the arm of the couch. Obi winds around his ankles and then slips past Ryan into the bathroom, to jump up onto the counter and look at himself in the mirror. 

Ryan looks down the hall to Shane’s bedroom door. The lights are off, but Ryan wonders if Shane’s thinking about it. If Shane’ll give it a second thought. Or a third. Or even just a single thought to what he saw, before brushing it off to some all-too-convenient explanation. 

Flopping onto the couch, Ryan hangs his head and runs his fingers through his damp hair. For once, he wishes and hopes that Shane won’t say anything about it, will chalk it up to _anything_ else. 

-:-

Shane allows himself to watch Ryan stand outside on the balcony, forearms on the balustrade. There’s something like _longing_ etched into the line of Ryan’s spine and the way his arms rest on the railing, hands hanging over the edge, fingers limp. 

It unsettles Shane to see it, but to admit why and connect dots—Shane can’t quite bring himself to address what he’d seen that night in his bedroom yet. There isn’t any possible way he hadn’t been dreaming so lucid that that had felt that real. He can still hear the sound; the rustle of feathers against themselves.

Rather than just stare, he stands up from the couch after setting his laptop and headphones beside him, and crosses the living room to slide open the door. Ryan doesn’t turn to look at him, but Shane sidles up to him anyway, mirroring his stance. Instead of looking up to the night sky, though, Shane gazes at Ryan, watching him carefully. Ryan sighs, and his posture wilts, and Shane isn’t sure what to say. Not yet anyway, so Shane looks away, and the silence grows between them, just the echoes of the quiet city below audible. 

“You alright, man?” Shane asks, eventually, keeping his voice soft. Ryan shrugs. 

“It sucks being stuck inside. We can’t do anything. I’m—I’m really missing, like, Disneyland air.” 

For that, Shane cracks a smile, rolls his eyes. Ryan sighs, and Shane knows there’s more underneath that, however true his confession is. 

“It’s nice out,” Shane says. “Good for a hike, maybe.” 

Ryan makes a face that says he does not agree, and Shane wheezes. They can’t, but the thought is a good one, nevertheless.

Silence falls again, but it’s shifted, heavily present. Or maybe it’s just Shane who notices how quiet they are, how quiet Ryan is. At least he isn’t bristling. Or argumentative. Irritable. It hadn’t occurred to Shane that he misses Ryan in his easiest form; boisterous laughing and big, wide, toothy smiles, eyes nearly closed with the force of his joy. 

“So,” Shane attempts, drawing his hands back from the railing and shoving them into his pockets. “So, uh. The other night?” 

It only lasts for a fraction of a moment, but Shane notices when Ryan’s body tenses, taut like a guitar string. It only serves to highlight that Shane’s found the right place to pluck at him. 

“What other night?” Ryan says, looking away from Shane then, and back up to the sky. 

“I’m sure I was dreaming, but on the off chance that I was not—” 

“Whatever it was, it was probably a dream,” Ryan says instantly, his voice off, brisk, cold again. Shane doesn’t like that he shivers from it, but the feeling moves quickly into heat when annoyance spikes. 

“You don’t even know what I was going to say,” Shane counters. 

Ryan levels him with a dark look, brown eyes squinted. “What were you going to say, then, Shane?” 

There’s an out. Shane doesn’t have to say anything at all. He’s not even sure he wants to say anything at all, and yet, he finds himself spilling words before he can stop myself. 

“That night in my room.”

Ryan stares at him, blinks, and then looks away, out towards the city. “What about it?” 

“Was I dreaming?” 

“Yep.”

“Okay, then,” Shane concedes, because he doesn’t want to fight. He doesn’t. So, he stands up straight, turns, and walks back inside. 

-:-

Shane does _not_ think he was dreaming. A skeptic sure, but he’s admitted, on several occasions, that as soon as he sees something—that would be that. 

The fact is, he’s seen something. Even as late as it had been, through bleary eyes because his contacts had molded themselves to his pupils, he couldn’t rightfully deny that he hadn’t seen Ryan standing at the edge of his bedroom with wings that spanned a reach from wall to wall. Ryan, who’d looked at him with frightened eyes, but whose body finally looked at ease. 

A hell of a secret to keep. Which begs the question of why Ryan would have wanted to stay with him in the first place. Why wouldn’t Ryan want to stay by himself with the endless opportunities to let those bad boys out? Why would Ryan suffer, cage himself in to the point of constant irritation and unease? 

Why, why, why?

Questions easily answered by the fact that Ryan is a people person, sure. He would miss having someone real to talk to that wasn’t just someone through a screen. And considering Ryan wasn’t seeing anyone, that would have left him alone. Alone, but free in a sense that he wasn’t _hiding_. 

It pained Shane to know that Ryan had been hiding in the first place. 

Shane knows _why_ , but he still doesn’t like not being privy to something so important in Ryan’s life. This far into the friendship they have cultivated should have given Ryan free range to share secrets of this caliber. 

It’s funny in a sense, that Shane is upset that Ryan didn’t tell him, which bleeds into annoyance that Ryan had brushed him off last night when Shane tried to ask. 

What is going on, that Ryan feels like he can’t share himself with Shane?

There’s something to unpack there, and Shane is going to ignore that for the time being, because the problem at hand is that he believes his friend has wings, and that’s ridiculous in and of itself. Preposterous. Outrageous. 

Surely, he can’t entertain such an idea. He can’t. 

Except he spends the next _several days_ trying to get a rise out of Ryan so he’ll crack, burst open and show Shane there’s something to believe in. 

It’s late when it happens, the apartment is so quiet that Shane can hear the TV across the hall, and Ryan’s sprawled out on his stomach on the floor. 

Shane’s tired of this. Tired of both knowing and not knowing. Tired of wanting to believe in something that Ryan clearly doesn’t want him to believe in. Tired of closing his eyes and seeing the fall of dark feathers and the span of Ryan’s back beneath them. Tired of remembering the fear in Ryan’s deer-in-the-headlights gaze when Shane had surprised him. 

Shane nudges Ryan in the side with his foot. Ryan shifts over but not quite far enough out of Shane’s reach. He reaches again, pressing with his toes into the base of Ryan’s spine. 

Ryan sits up fast, and makes a horrible noise while he does it. His face goes pale, and then his jaw clenches. 

“What the fuck is your problem?” Ryan’s voice is strained. 

“Nothing, man,” Shane says. He shrugs. Obi looks up from where he’s curled on the couch beside Shane, ears turned forward like he can hear something Shane can’t. 

Ryan’s eyes flash. He gets to his feet, and Shane has an uncomfortable moment of wondering whether he’s really finally pushed Ryan too far and is going to find out what it might be like to take one on the chin, before Ryan’s shoulders shift and something miraculous happens. 

Feathers burst into existence. The wind of it shifts through Shane’s hair. The tips of the wings stretch to each corner of the room and only stop because they run into the walls. Ryan rolls his shoulders, and they move with him. One end brushes against the set of shelves next to the patio door, and Shane hears everything on the shelf hit the floor. 

He can’t look away. 

“Is this what you wanted?” Ryan asks, looking at Shane like he’s daring him to disbelieve. 

There aren’t words. Shane’s lost them all. He just stares. 

Ryan’s wings tremble. Ryan shifts his weight, and crosses his arms over his chest. The movement brings the wings in a little, so the feathers near the ends brush the floor.

Shane blinks. The wings are still there. He blinks again, and pushes the heels of his hands into his eyes until he sees starbursts. When he opens his eyes again, the afterimages hang on. The wings remain. 

“Ryan—Ryan, what?” Shane’s voice is hoarse. Obi hops down off the couch, and Ryan shifts back a step, sweeping his feathers out of Obi’s path. Obi is undeterred. 

“So, I guess I should tell you that you weren’t dreaming,” Ryan says. At his feet, Obi launches himself at a stray feather and rolls over onto his back. Ryan looks down, and Shane catches the edge of the fond smile. 

“I—clearly, I wasn’t dreaming. I knew I wasn’t dreaming. What the _fuck_ , Ryan?” Shane shifts forward on the couch, but stops himself before he gets to his feet. Ryan’s still watching Obi play with the feather. The wings are huge. “Can you—can you fly?”

Ryan looks up. “Yeah? Of course? That’s kind of the whole point.” 

“They’re like—” Shane stops himself, unable to figure out what they’re like at all. He doesn’t have anything to compare them to. “They’re—jeez,” Shane says. He shakes his head. “Jeez.”

“Go on,” Ryan says, lifting one wing towards Shane. As he moves the wing, Shane watches the colours play across the feathers like the iridescence of an oil slick in a puddle. Purple and green and blue over the black. “I know you want to.” 

“I—” Shane doesn’t not want to, but he’s still half-convinced that if he does, he’ll wake up and this will all be some wild dream. He’s not sure when the dream started, maybe the day he found the first feathers. If he touches Ryan’s wings—Ryan’s! Wings!—and they’re real, what does that mean? Shane lifts one hand. His fingers shake, and Ryan meets him in the middle, because Shane can’t quite close the distance on his own. 

At first, it’s just the brush of Shane’s finger along the edge of the feather, the barest touch. The feathers don’t disappear, Shane doesn’t wake up. Ryan’s still standing there, patient and silent, watching Shane touch his feathers. Shane swallows against the sudden lump in his throat. He’s not one to get choked up, but this is a wholesale re-adjustment of his entire worldview, so he thinks he might be allowed, this one time. 

With Ryan’s feathers seemingly determined to be real, Shane gets braver. He leans forward, sticking his fingers deeper into the feathers, sinking into the warmth of them. Ryan’s whole body tightens as Shane’s fingers brush against the line of one of the delicate bones beneath the skin.

“Okay,” Shane says, drawing his hands back. He wants to keep touching. His fingers tingle with the desire. “Okay. So you have wings. That’s a thing that’s really happening. Alright.” Shane brings one hand up to pinch the meat of his upper arm. It hurts. 

Ryan shifts his shoulders and the wings go away, disappearing as if they were never there. “You’re really not dreaming,” Ryan says, and steps forward. 

Shane looks up. “They’re really real.” 

“Really, really,” Ryan answers.

“Okay,” Shane says. He grabs the remote from beside him on the couch. “You wanna watch something before dinner?”

-:-

The blinds are drawn, but the overhead light in the living room is on. It’s late afternoon; since Shane is napping, Ryan sits in the middle of the floor. The TV plays in the background, as he tries to groom his feathers. It’s difficult since he can’t expand his wings to their full span, but he makes it work as best as he can, curling them forward so he can see them, so he can see what he’s doing. 

It’s been a while since he’s been able to groom himself properly; it feels good to right them and set them back in place, pull off the mottled and torn feathers, to carefully adjust them so they lie flat and to see the way they shine. In the past, he’d have gone home and had his mother do it for him, or bribed Jake into it with the offer of several beers and access to Ryan’s building’s pool, but since he can do neither, he’s stuck like this, trying to do his best to reach the tough spots. 

Of course, it’s frustrating when he can’t reach particular places, and forget the backs of his wings. It’ll have to do though, even as he heaves a sigh and throws a handful of feathers to the ground in front of him. 

“Hey, you okay?” 

Slightly startled, Ryan looks over to the call of Shane’s voice, looking at him where he stands at the edge of the couch, leaning his hip against the armrest. He has his arms crossed over his chest, and he looks tired. Granted, Shane usually looks tired, but there’s something about it here that Ryan sort of wants to soothe. The want to touch Shane’s face is a little new, but it’s there nonetheless. He blames it on the restrictions of the plague, constantly being told to keep his limbs to himself.

“Yeah, there’s just some hard to reach spots. I don’t usually do this by myself. They’re too big,” Ryan admits. Ryan turns his attention to the television, watches as two characters talk to each other. The volume isn’t loud enough to really hear over the rushing of his heartbeat in his ears. 

Ryan is still getting used to this, used to living in a space where someone knows his secret. It’s Shane, he shouldn’t feel vulnerable about it, but he does. A little exposed, a little naked; his wings flutter, nearly knocking over a photo frame. 

“Do you want some help?” Shane offers, his tone casual. Ryan wonders if he’s only asking because he feels like he should. Because he absolutely doesn’t need that. He’d rather suffer than have Shane feel obligated. And yet, his shoulders hunch forward with how much he desires to have Shane help. 

“I do, but if you really don’t want to, it’s okay,” Ryan says honestly, sighing. He sits up straight, wiping his hands on the legs of his pants. He glances unseeing at the TV. 

“It’s fine. Just—just tell me what to do. How to help.” Shane walks over and sits in front of him, crossed legged so their knees are touching. Shane looks at him with curious eyes, amber glimmering underneath the light in the middle of the living room. The way Shane’s gaze holds his eases something in Ryan.

“Okay, well, like—just fix them so they’re laying flat. Whenever I don’t get to spread them out that often, they get kind of bunched up. Like they’re mad at me,” Ryan says with a smile. Shane laughs. 

“They're—you know. They’re really neat,” Shane says softly, not looking at Ryan, but at his wings, as he reaches out to touch the top, dragging his fingers, slow, through feathers. Ryan shivers, looking down at Shane’s chest as Shane works on his wings. He shouldn’t like it this much, but he does; it’s relaxing, so much so that Ryan closes his eyes and just lets himself feel the touch of Shane’s hands. It shouldn’t feel this good. It shouldn’t, and Ryan doesn’t quite think he’s going to get over it. 

“If I lay down, will you do the back of them for me?” Ryan requests, looking up at Shane’s face and the concentration etched in his features; Shane looks peaceful, gentle, even, the purse of his lips and the knit of his eyebrows softened here. Ryan wants to reach up and smooth the creases in Shane’s forehead with the press of his thumb. Ryan clasps his fingers together, instead, and rests them on his lap. 

“Of course.” Shane glances down at him, pursed lips smoothing into an easy twist of a smile. Ryan doesn't know why, but the thumping of his heart kicks a little quicker.

Returning his own easy smile, Ryan lets Shane work, gently guiding him to the spots Ryan couldn’t reach himself. 

When it comes time, Ryan maneuvers himself carefully to lay down on his stomach, resting his head over his forearms. He manages not to knock anything over, attentive and cautious with the span of his wings. Sitting beside him, on his knees, Shane is careful and diligent, but quick. 

“It’s like having a pet bird all over again,” Shane teases, the tone of his voice wildly amused. 

Ryan laughs. “I’m not a pet, Shane, Jesus.” 

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna go busting out any leashes, Ry, chill,” Shane promises.

Ryan grins into the skin of his forearm, and after silence falls, Ryan whispers, “Thank you for this. I really needed it.” 

“No problem. I’m just glad you’re done being a dick.” 

“Excuse me, you were also being a dick.” 

“Only because you were a dick _first_.” 

It’s a fair sentiment, so Ryan concedes. “You’d be a dick, too, if you had these giant babies shoved under your shoulder blades. It’s awful. Even for a little while, it’s almost claustrophobic.” 

“How do you—like. How did you get them?” 

“My mom has them. My dad doesn’t, and neither does Jake. It’s just—a thing that runs in the family on my mom’s side.” 

“Yeah, okay. Some kids get freckles. You have a sixteen-foot-wingspan.” 

“Exactly like that.” Ryan’s wheezing laugh turns into a bit of a sigh as Shane cards through his feathers with careful hands. He closes his eyes. “There’s a whole—it’s a really long story. But I’ll tell you one day. I think my mom will like that you know. She likes you. And you’ll be one less person we have to hide around.” 

“You make it sound like I’ll be coming over more often.” There’s something about Shane’s voice here that spills warmth like coffee into his body; hot and exhilarating. Ryan’s no less tired, but his heart is pounding. 

“You know you’re welcome anytime,” Ryan explains, his voice low.

“I know,” Shane near-whispers.

Quiet blankets them, except for the television and the sound of Ryan’s feathers rustling. Unexpectedly, Shane touches the base of Ryan’s left wing, and a jolting thrill of arousing heat floods through Ryan instantly. Alarmed, Ryan gasps.

“Shane—” 

“Sorry, sorry. Did that hurt?” Shane asks, rescinding his hands all together. 

Instead of saying no and explaining that it’s exactly the kind of touch that’ll make him hard, he says, “Yeah, a little.” Ryan clears his throat. “They’re just sensitive.” Which isn’t untrue. But he doesn’t want to go down this path. It’s bad enough he can imagine himself craving the soft and easy way Shane touches him. He doesn’t want to obsess about this, too.

Shane makes a non committal noise, but he doesn’t put his hands on Ryan again. “I think I’m all done. Do you feel better?” 

Ryan leans up on his forearms, craning his neck to look behind himself at Shane. “Yeah. They’re not itchy anymore. Which—thank _fuck_.” 

“I still can’t believe you have these,” Shane says, his tone so incredulous. Something like pride flushes through Ryan. “They’re enormous. How do they fit inside of you?” 

“You can make anything fit with a little lube.” 

“Ryan—Jesus, fucking—what?” 

Ryan cackles, shaking his head. “It was a joke, calm down. Also, I don’t know. It’s very handwavey bullshit, if you ask me. I just—I just put them away.” Ryan looks down at his hands. He can feel Shane’s hand on his back, somewhere in the middle, underneath where his wings protrude. There’s heat there, gathered neatly underneath Shane’s touch. It feels like it’ll keep when Shane inevitably moves his hand away. 

“Does it hurt?” 

“No. It feels like—” Ryan furrows his brow, wracking his brain for an applicable metaphor. “I don’t know. It just feels like bending your arm. A little tingly when it happens. But it doesn’t hurt at all.” 

Here, Ryan closes his eyes and wills his wings back in, allowing them to sink behind bone and muscle until next time. He rolls onto his back, the ache dulled to nearly nothing. He exhales in relief.

“That’s _insane_ ,” Shane breathes. “They just—disappear.” Shane levels him with a look Ryan can’t quite decipher; Shane’s looking away before Ryan can try. 

Ryan shrugs. “Yeah, they do.” 

“We should—” Shane frowns. “You should go.” 

“Go where?” Ryan frowns.

“Outside.” 

“We can’t go outside, Shane.” 

“I know, but _you_ should.” 

Ryan sits up properly so he can look at Shane. He looks worried, brow furrowed and eyes pensive, like he’s trying to solve a problem. It’s not Shane’s problem to solve and yet, Ryan feels a flood of affection for Shane, harbored delicately behind his heart. Ryan sets a hand on Shane’s shoulder. 

“It’s going to be fine, Shane. I’m not, like, worried about it. You’re—I have this. And it’s okay—” 

“You cannot stay inside like this! Ryan, you can’t just let yourself suffer.” 

“I’m not suffering—” Ryan takes his hand back, folding them both together in his lap. 

Shane shoves his own fingers through his hair. “Yes you are! You’re like a...bird in a cage.” 

Ryan throws his head back, cackling into the living room. “You’re being dramatic.” 

“I’m not being dramatic. I’m being _pragmatic_. You need to go outside. So, we’re gonna get you outside.” 

“We could get in trouble, and the last thing I want to do is to break a law.” 

“It’s not a law that we can’t go outside, Ryan. It’s just heavily ill-advised. Besides, if we get pulled over or something, then we can just say we’re going to the grocery store or, we have to go check on your mom’s dogs, or—I don’t know. We can make something up. But we have to get you outside.” 

Ryan looks at Shane, really looks at him; the arch of his brows, the intensity of his eyes, the shape of his mouth when he talks. Shane picks up a feather from the floor, running his index finger over the soft vane. Ryan shivers again, and then grins, when Shane takes that feather and tucks it behind his ear like a flower. 

“You look like Robin Hood,” Ryan says with a smile. Shane’s lips twist into a wry smirk. 

“We’ll make a plan, okay? We can do this.” 

“I can manage without it. I just need to be able to stretch them out sometimes. And you gave me space for that.” 

Shane says silent for a moment. And then, “But—it’s better? Isn’t it better to be in a space where you’re not worried you’re going to knock something down?” 

“Well, yeah—” 

“Okay, then. Okay. Then.” 

“Then?” 

“ _Then_. Then we’ll make a plan. And you can go somewhere you like and run free and be the happy little bird I know you can be.” 

“I’m not a bird,” Ryan insists, amused but indignant. Shane quirks an eyebrow at him. 

“I guess that begs the question, what are you?” 

“I’m an angel.” Ryan tries to say it seriously, but he can’t quite keep a straight face.

“You’re a fuckin— _okay_.” 

“You don’t think I can be angelic?” Ryan asks, grinning. 

“Not even a little bit. _Angel_ , he says. You’re much more of a demon. Demons have wings, don’t they?” 

“You’re the demon, Shane.” 

Shane mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like ‘I’m not a demon,’ whilst pouting, and Ryan smiles to himself. “You hungry?” 

“Yeah. You want help making—uh. What are we having?” 

Shane makes a face. “I haven’t figured that out yet. But I’m sure there’s something we can put together.” 

Ryan gives Shane a smile and stands up, offering Shane a hand, which he takes. Ryan pulls Shane’s weight up, and Shane’s knees sound off like firecrackers. Shane stumbles just a little, but it’s enough to close the space between them. Ryan’s still holding Shane’s hand, and for a second, the air shifts, feeling heavy and thick with static. 

Ryan reaches up with his free hand and plucks the feather from behind Shane’s ear. Shane watches him, Ryan can feel it, and Ryan doesn’t know what he’s doing, but they’re pressed together a little bit, and Shane’s holding his hand a little bit, and they look at each other, for a beat and then another, before their hands drop away, and Ryan steps back. 

Shane reaches out between them, though, and takes the feather back from Ryan. “I want to keep this one,” he says, without offering any sort of explanation, and puts it back behind his ear. 

-:-

“Ready? To the car and then the park and we’ll—” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Ryan says. He looks like he’s vibrating out of his skin, and truth be told, there’s excitement rushing through Shane, too. 

Enacting the plan, they walk carefully and quickly to Ryan’s car. As soon as the doors close, Ryan pulls out of the parking lot, rubbing the leather of the steering wheel under his hands. He looks over at Shane for a moment, smiling a little dopily. 

“Is it stupid that I missed driving?” Ryan says, and Shane shakes his head. 

“Not even a little, bud.” Shane smiles and looks out the window, enjoys the way the streets blur. Shane isn’t much for car rides, not the way Ryan is, but he’s missed it, too, the feeling of being outside. Even though they’re breaking a rule, one he’s wholly in support of, he doesn’t care about anything other than this moment, and what this moment is going to lead to. 

Something compels him to, so he does, reaching over the console and touching Ryan’s shoulder. Ryan looks at him again, a flash of his features under the light of a streetlamp. He looks luminous. 

Sure, it’s a wild choice of wording here, but he does, Shane admits to himself. He looks—

“You okay, Shane?” Ryan asks. 

“Yeah. All good.” 

The rest of the ride is spent mostly quiet; Shane keeps his descriptive words to himself. 

When they reach the park, the gate is locked, but since it’s for vehicles, it doesn't deter them. Ryan parks up the street and turns the car off. They exit the vehicle, and the first thing Shane does is look up. 

The sky is clear, speckled with starlight. The moon hangs high, bright and beautiful, almost full. Somehow, Shane had forgotten the majesty of the night sky. They both needed out. Shane turns to look at Ryan, and Ryan’s already gazing back at him. Shane takes in a deep breath. 

“Ready?” 

“Are _you_? You keep asking me if I’m ready. You have to know I am,” Ryan says, shaking his head and walking past Shane towards the gate. He does a neat little hop over some rocks, and Shane follows him, looking over his shoulder like someone might be following. 

The trail is easy to walk, even in the dark. They don’t use flashlights, but Ryan uses the light of his phone. They reach the ranger’s station. 

“We gotta get up on the roof,” Ryan says.

Shane doesn’t question him, just follows his lead. Miraculously, there’s a ladder tied to the building, which Ryan handles, settling it against the building wall. 

“You first,” Shane offers, and Ryan takes the lead, climbing up the ladder as Shane holds it from either side. When Ryan makes it to the roof, he holds the ladder from the top, and Shane climbs over Ryan when he reaches the roof. 

Ryan stands to his full height, and even though Shane’s seen it a few times already, he watches Ryan take his shirt off and drop it to the roof, shaking out his shoulders before wings unfurl, first small and then growing, feathers fluttering and falling. 

It’s quite the sight when Ryan stands with his wings spread out fully. Here, they’re even bigger than they had been in Shane’s apartment, spanning wider than Shane thought they could. They’re long and lovely and dark to match Ryan’s hair, and Ryan—well, Shane can’t quite stop looking at him. There’s liberation in Ryan’s face, true freedom in his smile, the rise of his eyebrows. Here, Shane can see Ryan’s shoulders are completely relaxed for the first time in a long time. He looks—breathtaking. 

“Okay, here goes,” Ryan says, taking a step into empty space behind him. Before Shane can reach out in panic, Ryan falls backward over the edge of the roof with a shit eating grin. Shane’s heart rockets into his throat.

A moment of terror passes as Shane watches Ryan’s figure lift into the air, wings beating strong as he climbs as high as the stars. Shane’s breath is caught in his lungs, staring up at the sky with wide eyes, not even allowing himself to blink. There’s power in the way Ryan moves, the speed with which he soars across the sky. It reminds Shane of birds of prey. 

Ryan pulls himself up into a hard stall, almost too high to be seen against the dark sky, and then lets himself drop, wings held tight to his body. Shane watches him coming, and doesn’t consciously tell himself to duck, but he does anyway. Ryan catches himself, wings snapping out at the last possible moment, the gust of wind knocking Shane off his feet. Ryan whoops, and wheels away again, while Shane stares.

Laying back against the roof, both arms behind his head, Shane watches Ryan swoop and dart, his shadow crossing the moon, hollering with delight. Shane grins. 

It might be the best thing he’s ever experienced. Ryan’s almost majestic, like an eagle, drifting through the air. Shane watches with pure astonishment, not allowing his brain to question this version of reality where Ryan is flying in this air because he has _wings_ , and Shane’s lying on the roof of a building, half-hard from watching it all. 

Shane doesn’t question that either. 

He just lets the feeling ride through him, lets himself enjoy this bit of wonder in awe, lets Ryan take reign of the open air. It feels like only a few minutes, all rushing by him, but it’s north of an hour before Ryan comes back down, landing gracefully on his feet. Shane stands, and he shakes his head. 

“I can’t believe you can _fly_ ,” Shane mumbles. “You can _fly_ , Ryan.” 

“Yeah, dummy. You think they’re just for show?” Ryan teases, grinning up at Shane. Ryan’s hair is windblown, and his eyes are bright.

In an aborted motion, Shane reaches out his hand and pauses, pulling his hand back. He has better manners than just to grab at Ryan. “Can I touch them?” Shane asks in a quiet voice. 

“Yeah. You’ve touched them before...” Ryan’s wings flutter, like they’re shivering, and Shane reaches out to them, letting his fingers comb through the feathers of his wings, through the saturated iridescence of them. 

“Wow,” Shane whispers, just a breath as he touches gently over the top. Ryan’s wings ruffle again, startling Shane, and Ryan’s looking up at him with wide eyes. 

“Sorry,” Ryan says with a playful smile. “Tickles.” 

“It’s—wow, Ryan. Just—” He’s speechless because how—how? How can something like this be possible? Shane realizes he can question it, use his very last breath to ask, and it won’t make a difference. 

Shane’s seen a lot of beautiful things, but this? These wings unfurled from Ryan’s back, glinting gold and silver, blue and green and white, underneath the gentle light the moon lends them, high above a city so quiet; Ryan, with his big eyes looking up at him, questions swimming in those brown irises, a flush settled so sweet along his cheeks—

Well, Shane’s never seen something quite so beautiful. Shane gazes away from him, settling his eyes on the wings spread out farther than Shane’s arms can reach. Shane tries to anyway, ruffling his fingers through the satin-soft vane of the feathers.

“Shane?” Ryan’s voice is a breath of a whisper, and still, Shane can’t quite look at him. Ryan presses his hands to Shane’s shoulders, gently drags over his biceps, and then the dips of his elbows. Ryan tugs on Shane’s arms. 

“Yeah?” he says, righting a crooked feather before allowing Ryan to take his hands. 

“Will you kiss me?” 

There’s vulnerability etched into the features of Ryan’s face when Shane looks down at him, the hopeful rise of his brows, the soft curve of his lips. Shane takes a step forward. 

They’re nearly pressed against each other, and Ryan sets a hand on Shane’s hip, his other hand warm and heavy on Shane’s shoulder, curving up and over to curl around the back of Shane’s neck. Shane stands there watching Ryan’s face, closing his eyes when Ryan moves his hand to settle against Shane’s cheek. His thumb swipes slowly over Shane’s bottom lip. 

“Ryan—” 

“I never thought you’d get to see me like this, you know,” Ryan muses, quirking some sort of weary half-smile. “I never intended—” 

“It’s okay. They’re—they’re something else, Ryan.” Shane inhales sharply. “I’ve never seen anything like you.” He curves his hands over the cut of Ryan’s hips, pulling them flush together, right before he leans in and meets Ryan’s lips with his own. 

Ryan makes a soft, muted sound, and both of his arms come around Shane’s neck. Ryan pulls back, just to press in again and it’s more, the feeling rushing through him, like his chest has been carved out, and there’s nothing but the raw emotion of kissing Ryan to fill it; warm, like the shot of tequila in a crowded bar, with Ryan pressed at his side. The swipe of Ryan’s tongue against his bottom lip is the sour tang of lime, and Shane chases the feeling, pressing his hand low, at the bottom of his spine, to keep them close. 

It’s like static, like being shocked. Something about the way Ryan’s mouth opens and lets in the press of Shane’s tongue jumpstarts Shane’s heart in his chest. Shane can feel the feathers of Ryan’s wings brush so gently against his forearms; it’s exciting, exhilarating. 

Ryan pulls back, and Shane’s eyes open to look down at him, watch the way his eyes open so slowly, the way his mouth blossoms into a smile. 

“Wow.” Ryan looks up at him, lowering down to stand at his height and Shane grins at him. 

“Yeah?” 

“We should—uh. We should go home?” Ryan’s hands fall to Shane’s shoulders, then his chest. 

“Okay,” Shane agrees, but he pulls Ryan in for another kiss; the sound of Ryan’s wings fluttering is nearly deafening. 

-:-

They can’t amble, so they rush, almost running inside of Shane’s building after he unlocks the door. They’re laughing, just a little, as they ride the elevator up, and Shane lets them into the apartment. 

Ryan isn’t shy here, not that he was on the rooftop, but Shane’s pulled in for a kiss before he can even get the door closed behind them. 

Ryan laughs against Shane’s mouth; it’s such a delightful sound, much different than the demeanor Ryan’s adopted as of late, cooped up and caged in the apartment. Shane can’t help the way his hands travel up Ryan’s back, over his shoulder blades where Ryan’s wings would be. The sound Ryan makes sends a hot drip of arousal flooding through Shane, pulling Ryan in closer. 

“Hey, hey,” Ryan says, smiling with a flush so bright across his cheeks Shane wonders if he’d be able to feel the heat of it against his fingertips if he was so bold to touch Ryan’s face in such a manner. 

Turns out, he’s every bit emboldened, and before Ryan says anything else, Shane touches the backs of his middle and forefinger ever so softly against Ryan’s cheek. He hears Ryan gasp. It’s such a soft sound, one that fills the emptiness in Shane’s chest. A sound so light, but it cracks through Shane like a gunshot. 

“Shane?” Ryan’s eyes are big, wide, pupils like coal and irises like the coffee Shane keeps in the canister on the kitchen counter. He blinks. 

“Yeah?” Shane whispers.

“Take me to your room.” It’s not a suggestion, and Shane wouldn’t take it as one either. 

“Okay.” 

It’s not so much that Shane takes him anywhere as much as it is that Ryan’s hands are heavy against Shane’s chest as Ryan walks them towards the direction of Shane’s bedroom, looking at him with fire in his eyes. 

In the bedroom, Shane kicks the door closed and pushes Ryan up against it. With a hand on the back of Shane’s neck, Ryan drags Shane down for a kiss, lips slanting together hard. Ryan moans so softly when Shane touches his hands to his hips, again when Shane pulls them flush together, and again, still, when Shane coaxes Ryan’s mouth open with a swipe of his tongue against Ryan’s bottom lip. 

When Ryan opens up for him, it feels like something inside Shane breaks. Any excuse he’d ever made is wiped away by the way Ryan fists his hands in Shane’s shirt, like they can somehow get any closer. They try anyway. 

“What do you want?” Shane whispers, pulling away from their kiss to look down at Ryan, and Ryan shrugs his shoulders. 

“Anything you want,” Ryan confesses. “I want anything you’ll give me.” 

Closing his eyes, Shane leans his forehead against Ryan’s, sucking in a harsh breath, one that burns his lungs. It smells like the LA air and something so distinctly Ryan, spicy and sweet. He wants everything, but he doesn’t know how to tell Ryan that. He doesn't know how to string the words together to tell Ryan that _Ryan_ is what he wants. 

Instead, Shane moves them to his bed, where the comforter and sheets lay rumpled. When Shane sits on the edge, Ryan stands in front of him. Shane widens the space between his knees, reaching out to tuck a finger in one of Ryan’s belt loops. Ryan comes so easily, stepping forward, grabbing the hem of his own shirt and pulling it off. 

It drops to the floor without much of a sound. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Shane whispers, and Ryan gives him a sultry smile. 

“You can touch if you want to, Shane. That’s the whole point.” 

Shane cracks a smile of his own, and he does touch, because Ryan’s words sound suspiciously like, _Touch me please, Shane._ Both of his hands press against Ryan’s stomach. His left stays, but his right drifts up, slow, coming to a gentle rest over Ryan’s chest. 

“You’re—fucking insane,” Shane whispers. “Must be all those protein shakes, huh?”

Ryan’s laugh is soft, but he reaches to touch Shane’s shoulders, to set his knees on either side of Shane’s on the bed and lower himself onto Shane’s lap. 

“What do _you_ want, hmm?” Ryan asks, leaning in to brush his lips over Shane’s. Shane can feel the movement of his mouth when he speaks, can feel the heat of his breath. Shane can feel Ryan’s heart thudding in his chest, the tension of his stomach. 

“Wanna touch you,” Shane answers simply. 

“Where?” Ryan whispers, a dare if Shane’s ever heard one. Shane drops his left hand to Ryan’s thigh, and sets his right hand against the hard line of him, still hidden away behind his jeans. Ryan moans softly, pressing their lips together then, and for some reason, Shane feels like he’s won the game. 

Shane uses both of his hands to get Ryan’s pants undone, pushing the zipper down. Ryan kisses him like he’ll never get a chance to again, hurried and rushed and desperate, with a wicked tongue and bruising grip against his shoulders. 

When Shane dips his fingers underneath Ryan’s underwear and gets his fingers around him, Ryan breaks the kiss, a broken whisper of Shane’s name dripping from his lips. Shane leans in to press his mouth over the flushed heat of Ryan’s throat, licking away the taste of salt before he sets a string of kisses over blushing skin. He pulls Ryan properly out of his pants, before he wraps his left arm around Ryan’s waist so he doesn’t have to let him go to reach into his bedside table for the lube he keeps there. 

Breathing hard, Ryan watches Shane as Shane covers the palm of his hand in lube and then reaches for his cock, dripping already at the tip. Shane looks down at the way his fingers curl around Ryan, stroking slowly, almost a tease—Ryan inhales sharp, drawing Shane’s attention to the bow of his head, the fan of his long eyelashes against the blush of his cheeks, the part of his lips as he pants, short and hitched in time with every pull of Shane’s hand around him. 

Shane is mesmerized, reaching up to touch Ryan’s face. Ryan’s eyes open, and he looks at Shane. With the intensity of his gaze, it feels like bones shift and reorganize in Shane’s body to make room for the burst of emotion that blooms behind his ribs.

-:-

When Ryan comes into his bedroom after his shower, he hovers in the doorway. Shane looks at him, away from the screen of his phone, smiling softly. 

“This isn’t—hmm. We’re not going to be weird, right?” Ryan asks. He shuffles his feet, on hand behind his neck. 

“You’re making it weird right now,” Shane says, but he’s grinning, and Ryan smiles back. The air settles into something sweeter, something new. 

“Sorry, sorry. It’s—you _know_.”

“Come sleep in here,” Shane says instead, setting his phone down on the nightstand. Ryan moves, closing the door behind him and crawling into the empty side of Shane’s bed. “Do you want to sleep on this side instead, away from the window?” 

Ryan looks at him, something like confusion knitting Ryan’s brow, and Shane frowns. 

“What?” 

“Nothing,” Ryan murmurs, but his knowing smile tells Shane differently.

“Okay. Well, do you want to switch spots?” Shane asks again, and Ryan shakes his head. 

“No, just come here.” 

“I’m right he—” 

Ryan hauls him close by the collar of his shirt, close enough that their noses brush together. “I really want to kiss you.” 

“You can. You can do that now,” Shane says with a smile. “Like, whenever you want. Now, or later, tomorrow—” 

Turns out, it’s not so bad being interrupted mid-sentence when it’s because Ryan’s kissing him. 

Ryan is so responsive; here he kisses slowly, with his fingers threaded through Shane’s hair, their hips flush together as Shane presses his hand at the bottom of Ryan’s spine. The slick slide of his tongue tastes like toothpaste, and he smells like Shane’s body wash, and it does incredible things to Shane. 

Easing Shane onto his back, Ryan slips a thigh between Shane’s, grinding down—Shane makes a soft noise, a desperate moan into Ryan’s mouth. 

They kiss for a while, with all the lights on, on top of the blankets, dressed for bed. They kiss until Shane’s lips are chapped, and Ryan’s breathing so hard Shane’s kissing his neck instead. They kiss until they’re too tired to, and Ryan doesn’t quite let Shane go, even when they’re underneath the blankets. 

-:- 

Eventually, the tide turns, and the number of cases starts to go down every day. The restrictions start to ease. The parks open. The city comes back to life, slow and careful, just as the heat of the summer truly settles in and around the towers of glass and concrete. The Shelter in Place order is lifted, and Shane takes Ryan out, and they sit on the curb of a sidewalk and eat tacos while salsa drips down Ryan’s wrist and people bustle around them.

Ryan grins at him and tells Shane he has sour cream on his nose, and they hold hands while they walk back to Ryan’s car. 

-:-

After that, Ryan doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. Part of him knows he should collect his things and go home, but being holed up in Shane’s apartment for the better part of several months leaves him with an odd apprehension about leaving. He has his own apartment, where all his things are, but he’s gotten so used to this, to them, to this new piece of them and their friendship. 

Except, Shane doesn’t ask him to stay for longer, and Ryan doesn’t tell Shane he wants to stay, so Ryan does in fact pack his stuff up and goes home. 

The air smells stale when he gets inside. He drops his backpack onto the couch and stands in the middle of the living room. There’s going to be an adjustment period, and it’s going to take awhile. 

How is it that right then, he can go anywhere he wants, and all he wants to do is swap out his load of clothes and head back over to Shane’s? Just for a little while longer, at least. 

Ryan rolls his shoulders and rolls his eyes at himself, and decides to—shower, he guesses. Everything in here seems so unappealing. 

After his shower, he makes his way into the kitchen. It should feel good to be home—but he keeps opening the wrong drawers in the kitchen, looking for utensils that sit in other drawers. There isn’t any food in the fridge, and most of what is in there is expired. He doesn’t want to deal with it, but he needs to. And then he should probably go grocery shopping. He doesn’t want to deal with that either, but he does it anyway, hauling the kitchen bin over and kneeling in front of his open fridge, assaulting his nose with suspicious science experiments as he throws away old food. 

When he’s done, he washes his hands and gathers up the trash to take out. 

As he’s making his way back inside his building, his phone buzzes. 

It’s a photo of Obi, sleeping on a couch cushion, captioned, _he misses you_. Ryan smiles down at his phone, sighing. 

Before Ryan can figure out what to type back, another message pops up. _Do you want to come grocery shopping with me? What should we have for dinner?_

_Don’t you want some time alone?_ Ryan answers, only because he feels like he should give Shane the out. Shane enjoys isolation and being by himself. Surely, Shane would want some time to recharge.

The thought bubble on Shane’s side of the text thread rises and drops several times over the next minute. Ryan watches, waiting for Shane to say something. The thought bubble drops and doesn’t rise again.

Ryan doesn’t know what to say to silence, so he doesn’t say anything. And Ryan’s concerned, because he doesn’t know what that means, or what to do about it, but he goes back inside and grabs his keys, because with or without Shane, he does need to eat. 

He means to head directly to the grocery store, but he ends up outside of Shane’s building anyway. 

_I’m outside,_ Ryan sends. He should have probably given Shane a warning, or had said yes when Shane initially asked, or _something_. Not that it seems to matter much at all when Shane comes outside a handful of minutes later, dressed in jeans for the first time in a while. He’s wearing his glasses, and his hair is so long. 

It’s like every other time Ryan’s come by to pick Shane up, except when Shane gets into the passenger seat of the car, he leans over the center console, and Ryan meets him for a kiss. Because. Because he can now. 

Ryan’s heart flutters, and he smiles. 

“Don’t make this weird, Ryan. If I get tired of you, I’ll tell you to go home. As it happens, I’m not tired of you yet.” Shane’s voice is so matter of fact it makes Ryan shiver. 

“Okay,” Ryan says, pulling out of the parking space. 

“Okay.” 

“You missed me,” Ryan accuses playfully. 

“Don’t make me regret it, Ryan,” Shane mutters, but his smile tells Ryan he isn’t going to regret a thing. 

-:- 

They don’t move in together, but Ryan spends a lot of time at Shane’s now. It makes the commutes easier to the office since Ryan doesn’t have to go slightly out of the way to grab Shane on his way in. 

And all Ryan’s favorite foods are stocked in Shane’s kitchen. He has a healthy amount of sneakers next to the front door. His clothes end up in drawers and in Shane’s closet, and the nightstand on Ryan’s side of the bed (away from the window) has accumulated a lot of Ryan’s shit. 

The counter in Shane’s bathroom holds his toothbrush, his deodorant, his razors and shaving cream, his contacts case. In the shower sits his own body wash and shampoo, even though he uses Shane’s most of the time. 

When it comes time to do laundry, his clothes are mixed in with Shane’s. And they fold them together while the TV plays.

But they’re not _technically_ living together.

-:-

At some point, Shane has a bit of a thought. Not startling. Quite inevitable. Insane? Maybe, but it’s still a thought nonetheless. 

It happens between pieces of their lives, where lines have overlapped, and they’ve somehow become a _we_ and an _us_ . A _they_ . _Them_. Granted, they’ve always been grouped together, some sort of two-piece deal. Shane’s always been fine with that, with people looking to him to ask where Ryan might be, somewhat surprised when they aren’t standing next to each other. 

It’s bigger now, and they aren’t quiet about it. 

Watching Ryan talk to his parents over FaceTime on a Thursday evening from Shane’s couch, Linda’s laughter coming through over the speaker, makes Shane’s chest tighten a little. He says hello when he hears his name, waving when Ryan turns the camera over to him where he sits next to Ryan as he works on his laptop. He gets sucked into the conversation, talking to Linda about this, that, and the other. 

She knows he knows, and it’s become easier to fit into the grooves of Ryan’s life since he knows the family secret. She, and Steve, are supportive of them, and Shane gets wishes for a good night’s sleep before Ryan ends the call. 

There are moments outside of the apartment, too, when they go out to the beach, or a walk around the city, or to finally watch movies with perfectly made popcorn. Shane’s not much for the sentimental pieces of a relationship, but he does like that Ryan reaches to hold his hand while the movie plays now. 

Of course, there are softer moments, backlit by the glow of an early morning, where Shane struggles to blink sleep out of his eyes. Ryan brings back two mugs of coffee to bed on a Sunday morning whilst Shane tries to stay awake. Ryan burrows in close, handing Shane his mug, pulling blankets up over their waists. 

So, Shane has a thought that he should probably have a key made for Ryan.

The thought is easily fortified when Ryan drains his mug much too fast and drapes himself over Shane’s lap, pondering over all the things they could do, accepting oh so easily, Shane’s suggestion that they should go out to Ryan’s favorite clearing later that week, so Ryan can stretch his wings, and Ryan’s grin is brighter than anything Shane’s ever seen. 

So, sure. A key. It’s not like he doesn't want Ryan around anyway. And this way, if Ryan wants to, he’s welcome to just be here whenever he’d like to be. 

-:-

It’s fairly late when they make it to the clearing. It’s not the same place Ryan had taken Shane the first time, but Ryan leads him through the forest, carrying his bag, flashlights illuminating the trail. It’s a quiet night, the moon but a sliver in the sky. 

As they walk, Ryan reaches for his hand. He’s getting used to that—these outward motions of affection. Ryan’s affectionate as a friend, it would only translate into more now that they’re together, intimate. Shane likes that. He likes that they are allowed this. It’s weird to be grateful for something in the face of the cause of it, but Shane has been given the chance to hold on to Ryan in a way that he was never allowed to before, and he’s not going to let go now.

The clearing is just that, a large expanse of grass where there aren’t any trees in the way. Ryan lets his hand go in favor of unpacking a blanket and spreading it out. 

“What a gentleman,” Shane teases. Ryan smiles. 

“Better than just sitting on grass and dirt, I think,” Ryan says with a shrug. “Besides, it’s so nice out. Might wanna just hang out when I come back down.”

Shane quirks a brow. “Oh yeah?” 

“I was thinking—” Ryan steps close to Shane, touching his hands to Shane’s, clasping their fingers together. “You trust me, right?” 

“Depends. Trust you to choose a good movie, sure. Trust you to show me actual evidence of ghosts? Nope.” 

Ryan’s laugh is gentle, but he shakes his head. “I mean—just generally.” 

“Yes, Ryan, I trust you. Why are you asking me this?” 

Shane watches as Ryan tips his head back to look up at the sky. Shane follows his line of sight. It’s clear, not a cloud obstructing the starshine.

“Can I take you up with me?” Ryan asks in a soft whisper.

“Are you nuts?” Shane says before he has the chance to think about it. 

“Nuts about you,” Ryan says in a cheesy voice, one that makes Shane crack a smile, despite his heart doing backflips in his chest, stomach swooping at the thought of being up in the sky. 

“Ryan—you—I don’t like _rollercoasters_. What makes you think I’m going to enjoy being up there, with only you holding onto me? Also? I’m a noodle-man. It’d be pretty hard to actually hold me up.” 

“One, I’ve held you before. Two, it’s nothing like a rollercoaster. It’s _better_. Please? I just want you to see what I see.” Ryan looks up at him with pleading eyes. “I’m strong enough. I won’t drop you or anything. I used to take Jake up in the summertime. I promise everything will be fine.” Ryan’s fingers tighten around Shane’s, gently tugging on them. 

“I don’t know, Ry—” 

“Please, please, _please_ ,” Ryan asks. He looks up at Shane. “Let me show you a whole new world,” he says, very seriously. 

Shane rolls his eyes. “Don’t quote Aladdin at me,” he says.

“So you’ve not been waiting for your prince to show up and sweep you off your feet with his magic carpet, then?” Ryan’s grin is a terrible tease. 

It’s the curiosity that gets the best of Shane. It’s wondering exactly what it is that Ryan sees that’s different than looking out of the window on an airplane. It’s Ryan’s big eyes looking up at him, his smile much too sweet for Shane to really, truly deny him what he wants. 

Shane sighs, long-suffering and exaggerated, and says, “Fine, fine, you can take me up.” 

Ryan’s grin spreads wide and toothy, and somehow, even in the dim light of the forest, his eyes seem to shine. 

“So, obviously, you can’t be on my back, so get ready to be carried like a blushing bride.” 

“Do I have to? Can’t I monkey it from the front?” 

“No,” Ryan says, giggling. “Don’t be an idiot, just let me pick you up.” Ryan lifts his shirt off, tossing it onto the blanket.

Shane sighs, and lets Ryan do just that, curling one arm around the middle of Shane’s back. Shane swings his own arm around Ryan’s shoulders, and then Ryan bends, his other arm behind Shane’s knees, and the world tilts as he’s lifted. Ryan huffs, but his arms hold, and Shane can admit he doesn’t feel like Ryan is going to drop him. He can also admit that being lifted and held, so securely against the solidity of Ryan’s chest, is a secondary bonus.

“I can bench more than you weigh,” Ryan says, like he’s trying to soothe Shane. Their faces are so close, Shane can see all of Ryan’s eyelashes and the light, faded dusting of spots on the bridge of his nose from the sun. 

“I’m not worried,” Shane informs him. “But if you drop me, I’ll be dead, and you’ll be sad. Just think about that.” 

Ryan laughs. “Shut up, Shane. You ready?” 

“As I’ll ever be, I suppose.” Shane brings his other arm around Ryan’s shoulders and the second he feels the _lift_ , he shoves his face into Ryan’s neck, unwilling to see them rise. He can still hear Ryan laughing, and the air blows past them, just like a rollercoaster. Shane can hear the beat of Ryan’s wings, feel the way Ryan’s body is working to get them into the air. Shane holds onto Ryan as tight as he can, and he can feel Ryan respond, gripping the back of his knee. It’s comforting. 

Shane’s not sure how long they climb for, but he notices the moment they stop. The air is thinner, colder, and Ryan’s skin is so warm under Shane’s hands. 

“Babe,” Ryan says softly, into Shane’s ear. “Look.” 

“I don’t want to.” 

Ryan’s laugh is a rumble in his chest that Shane can feel. For some reason, Shane’s a bundle of nerves, and he doesn’t know why. He’s scared of looking and scared of not looking and scared of falling and scared of the flood of warmth in the spaces between his ribs.

“Come on, Shane. Please? There’s nothing else like it.” 

Shane swallows thickly, inhaling the scent of Ryan’s skin when he takes a deep breath. Lifting his head, he looks up at Ryan, backlit by the stars and what little light the moon lends them. Ryan’s eyes are focused behind Shane somewhere, so Shane follows his gaze, looking out at the cityscape laid out below them. 

It’s like being at the highest point of a ferris wheel, except better. It’s like looking out of the window on an airplane, but much more exhilarating. Shane’s heart stutters in his chest and his breath is stuck in his lungs. The bottom drops out of Shane’s stomach and he swallows. They’re _so_ high up.

The landscape is vast, and the ground is far away, and the lights are bright, even from up here. LA sprawls beneath them, all the lights like jewels in a crown. To the west, Shane can see the ocean, and to the east and north, the dark of the hills. Ryan’s wings flap behind him, holding them up and when Shane looks back to Ryan’s face, Ryan’s already looking at him. 

“Jesus Christ. This is what you get to see?” Shane asks, incredulous. 

“Every single time. You see why I’d want to show you, right?” 

“This is—a lot. It’s beautiful, though.” 

Ryan hums. “You like it?” He shifts his hold on Shane, re-gripping around Shane’s knee, wings trembling briefly. 

“Yeah.” 

Ryan’s smile is small but knowing. “You ready to go back dow—” 

“Not yet,” Shane confesses. “Unless you’re tired—” 

“I’m not.”

Shane takes a deep breath. “Okay. Just—for a little longer.” 

They stay up, so high Shane wonders if he’d be able to see them from the ground. So high the air is different and it’s cold. High enough that Shane doesn’t want to go back to the ground at all. He could stay here, pressed against Ryan’s chest, leaning his head on Ryan’s shoulder as he flies them all over the city, far away from where they’d parked, just soaring through the air. 

There’s something about the _atmosphere_ of the whole moment that warms Shane despite the chill of the air. Overcome with emotions or affection, or something, Shane tilts his head back and presses his mouth to Ryan’s jaw. Ryan looks down at him, and grins. 

“All this flying got you hot, huh?” he says. 

“Little bit.” 

Shane doesn’t know where they are but it doesn’t really matter. He just watches Ryan’s face as they go, and listens to the wind across Ryan’s wings. Shane closes his eyes against the rush of the ground beneath and the stars around them. He holds on a little tighter, kissing over Ryan’s neck again. Ryan’s hand grips the back of his knee. 

“If you don’t stop, I’m going to crash into a tree,” Ryan says, his voice low, a warning. 

“I can’t believe that you’d fly us into a tree,” Shane says, muffled against Ryan’s neck. 

Ryan shivers. “I might,” he says, and then he drops one shoulder and wheels them around in a graceful turn. Shane’s stomach flips, and he clutches hard at Ryan. “Hold on,” Ryan whispers, and Shane has only a moment to take a breath before Ryan folds his wings in and lets himself fall. 

That Shane doesn’t scream is something he thinks he’ll be proud of for the rest of his life. Though, really, how much longer that life is going to be is really in Ryan’s hands. The air rushes past them, dizzying. Shane closes his eyes, the ground is coming up so fast, too fast. He’s sure Ryan’s misjudged. They’re gonna be found in a splattered heap by some hikers, years from now, and someone is going to do a deep dive into the case of the birdman and his passenger. They’ll end up as one of those urban legends that no one ever solves. Shane doesn’t want to be an urban legend.

Ryan hauls himself out of the dive, spiraling through the air just a hair’s breadth above the dark spines of the trees. Shane holds on for dear life. He might do something stupid when they finally land, like lie down on the grass and refuse to get back up.

“Do _not_ do that again,” Shane says, when Ryan levels them out, soaring over a reservoir, close enough that Shane could reach down and touch the water. Ryan tips first one way, then the other, the ends of his wings slicing through the dark water. 

“Thought you liked a little thrill,” Ryan says, looking out in front of them. His wings beat, lifting them up again, until they’re up higher than the trees once again. 

“A little thrill?” Shane asks. His voice is a little high-pitched, but Shane thinks he’s allowed. “That was not a _little thrill_. That was heart-stopping terror.” 

Ryan hums. “I’ve got you,” he says, like that covers everything. 

Shane supposes it might. 

Ryan doesn’t perform any more dazzling feats of aerial acrobatics.

As they crest the final line of trees on their way back to the clearing, Shane leans up to press another kiss to Ryan’s neck. Ryan looks down, and turns them into a lazy spiral that brings them closer and closer to the ground with every pass. Shane holds on, and refuses to look until he feels Ryan settle once again on the ground. 

Once Shane’s on his feet, he circles his arms around Ryan’s waist and pulls him close, so their bodies are flush together. Shane’s already hard, pressing himself against Ryan. Ryan touches his hands to Shane’s shoulders. 

Ryan shifts, like he’s going to put the wings away, and Shane shakes his head. “No,” he says, “don’t.” 

Ryan’s eyes flare wide. “No?” 

“Please,” Shane says, hands sliding up Ryan’s back until his fingers reach the join of each wing. Ryan’s skin is warm beneath Shane’s hands. Shane slides his fingers higher, burying his hands in the feathers. “Leave them out.” 

Ryan arches into Shane’s touch. “You know,” he says, as Shane strokes through his feathers. Ryan’s head tips forward to rest on Shane’s shoulder. His wings curl around them. “You know—” Ryan tries again, but he loses it in a gasp. 

Shane stills. 

“Keep going,” Ryan says. His voice is strained, and Shane can feel the way he’s trembling, all over. 

“It doesn’t hurt?” 

Ryan huffs a laugh. “No, Christ, it doesn’t _hurt_.” 

Shane grins, and turns his head to press a kiss to Ryan’s temple. Pressed close like this, Shane is completely aware that it does not hurt at all. “So,” Shane says, drawing one arm out from under Ryan’s so he can wrap it around Ryan from the outside, and find the top of where Ryan’s wings are joined to his skin. “The other night—” 

“ _Shane_ ,” Ryan says, one hand clutching at Shane’s arm, the other gripped tight around Shane’s hip. 

“You were turned on, weren’t you? Lying there on my living room floor with my hands in your feathers.” 

Ryan sucks in a breath. “Fucking—” Ryan says, but Shane interrupts him by sliding his hand up and grabbing hold of the feathers at the base of Ryan’s wings, and holding. The noise Ryan makes is strangled, but not at all pained. He pants into Shane’s shoulder. “You’re gonna make me ruin—you can’t just—”

“Can’t just what, Ry?” Shane asks, and tilts Ryan’s chin up. Ryan’s eyes are dark, blown wide. Shane leans in. Ryan kisses Shane like he’s drowning, like he can’t get enough, and Shane agrees, wholeheartedly. He wants to crack open his own ribs and gather Ryan in, never let him leave. 

The kiss breaks when Ryan pulls back to breathe. “I’ve gotta—” he says, and tugs at Shane’s shirt. “You’re too dressed.” 

“We’re outside,” Shane says, but he doesn’t stop Ryan from scrabbling at his buttons, just drops his hands down to rest on Ryan’s hips, thumbs smoothing across Ryan’s skin. Ryan’s wings rustle in the night breeze and in time with his movements as he gets Shane’s shirt undone and then pushes it off Shane’s shoulders. 

Shane lets Ryan push it off, first one arm and then the other, and then Ryan’s hands slide up Shane’s back, fingers digging in at the top of Shane’s spine. He pulls Shane in, and Shane goes, easy like breathing, shoving his hands back into Ryan’s feathers, just to hear Ryan whine before Ryan’s mouth covers his. 

Shane’s not sure how it happens—he’s far too concerned with getting his hands into Ryan’s pants—but somehow, they end up on the ground, Shane under Ryan. Ryan’s wings fall all around them, a cage of feathers muffling all the sounds from outside. It feels secret, feels safe, feels like no one could see in, feels like they have this small slice of the world to themselves. 

Walled away behind the safety of Ryan’s wings, Shane reaches up to trace his hand along the line of Ryan’s jaw. “You really are something,” Shane says, and he feels more than sees Ryan’s flush. The gleam of Ryan’s eyes in the dark disappears briefly when Ryan ducks his head and nuzzles into the palm of Shane’s hand. 

Affection simmers and rises in Shane’s blood. Is it too soon? Maybe. Is it not soon enough? Also perhaps. Ryan opens his eyes and looks down at Shane, propped up on one forearm, the bulk of his weight resting against Shane. Ryan smiles, soft and slow and so devastatingly fond, that it takes Shane’s breath away. 

“I love you,” Shane says, before he can stop himself. There’s barely a chance for the words to get out of his mouth before Ryan’s leaning down, like he wants to taste the shape of them on Shane’s mouth.

“Love you, too,” Ryan says, into the barest space between them when he breaks away to breathe. 

“All of you,” Shane says, because he wants to make sure Ryan knows. It’s not the wings or the flying or anything else, it’s the sum of all his parts. All the things that make Ryan, Ryan. Shane liked the ones he knew about, and the ones he’s learned about, and he’s sure he’s going to like the ones he doesn’t know about yet.

“So you’re not just in it for the free ride?” Ryan says, a smile in the corner of his mouth. His eyes don’t leave Shane’s. 

“I wouldn’t say I’m _not_ in it for the ride,” Shane replies, waggling his eyebrows just in case Ryan hasn’t cottoned on. 

“Oh for the love of—” Ryan says with a breathless laugh. “Shut up, Shane.”

“Kinda wish I’d thought this out a little better. Didn’t exactly think you’d get me on my back first chance you got,” Shane mumbles, leaning up to press his mouth against Ryan’s cheek, scraping a kiss over the scruff of Ryan’s jaw. 

“Joke’s on you, cause I’m a boy scout,” Ryan murmurs, and Shane whispers _of course you are_ through a breathy laugh. 

“Go on, then,” Shane tells him. Ryan hums, reaching over Shane’s head, and Shane busies himself with the arched line of Ryan’s throat, pressing his mouth open and hot to his skin, his hands touching ever so reverently to the columns of Ryan’s ribs. He can feel Ryan’s heart beating so fast underneath his palm. 

When Ryan comes back to him, it’s with a bruising kiss, one that sears and burns, makes Shane’s hands find the narrow curve of Ryan’s hips and pull. Ryan wedges himself between Shane’s thighs, resting against the cradle of Shane’s hips and grinds down. Shane breaks the kiss just so he can whisper Ryan’s name into the air. 

“I’ve got you,” Ryan says, threading his fingers through Shane’s hair as he bows his head, the press of his kiss soft against the curve of Shane’s neck. Shane bears it for him, slipping a hand over Ryan’s ass to pull him that much closer, pushing his hips up to meet Ryan’s. “Come on, let’s get you out of these clothes.” 

With one last kiss, Ryan sits back on his heels, drawing his hands up the length of Shane’s thighs, over the hard line of him settled and aching behind his zipper. Ryan teases though, watching him intently, and out of Shane’s reach, Shane can’t quite grab for him. 

“Don’t tease me,” Shane mutters, and Ryan’s grin is telling, but he relents, popping the button to Shane’s pants before lowering the zipper. Fingers hooked in the waistband, Shane feels the electric touch of Ryan’s hands dragging his pants over his thighs, along with his underwear. He moves back, so he can take off Shane’s shoes, and tug them the rest of the way off. Ryan’s even kind enough to pluck off his socks. 

When he’s finished, Ryan leaves him in the open air, standing just so he can kick off his sneakers, shucking off his own jeans and briefs. It’s here that Shane takes a moment to truly appreciate Ryan is all his spectacular glory. Wings fully spanned on either side of him, big and boastful, glimmering. And then the rest of him, his strong shoulders and lean frame. Shane looks and appreciates and adores every inch of him. 

“Come here,” Shane says, leaning up on an elbow. Ryan kneels down between the spread of Shane’s legs and hovers over Shane with the full extension of his arms. Ryan leans down to kiss him, closing his wings around them. Shane reaches up to touch Ryan’s cheek, and Ryan meets him for a kiss, slow and tender as Shane pulls them down to lay properly. 

With their bodies touching like this, it feels incredible, the long line of Ryan hot against him. Shane groans when Ryan sets their hips right, tastes the way Ryan whispers his name when their hips move and friction sparks heat that Shane feels strike deep in his belly, a surge so good that his body trembles with how badly he wants Ryan. 

“Hey, can you—” Shane huffs, gripping his fingers into Ryan’s hip. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Ryan murmurs against the corner of his mouth. Slowly, Ryan drags his lips over Shane’s neck, his chest, licking over Shane’s nipple. Shane’s back arches, and he sighs, letting his eyes droop closed as he feels Ryan drip down the rest of his body, until he’s breathing hot over the front of Shane’s hips, using wicked teeth and a wet tongue to suck a bruise at the crease of his hip. 

“ _Ryan_ ,” Shane breathes. 

“It’s alright, babe, I got you.” Ryan soothes the bruise of a mark with a slow swipe of his tongue. Shane’s eyes open when he hears the _click_ of the lube opening. He looks down and sees Ryan lying between his thighs. It’s a sight he doesn’t think he’ll ever be over. There’s barely any light, and he feels more than he sees, but there’s still the unmistakable shadow of Ryan’s eyelashes so dark over Ryan’s cheeks as he looks down at what he’s doing. 

Shane draws his knees up, and Ryan’s wet fingers touch him, gently, before dipping in, a slick slide that punches the breath out of him. “Ryan,” he breathes, letting his eyes close, feeling it all caught in his chest, too much emotion harbored there, clogged somewhere behind or underneath his heart. He feels Ryan’s fingers curl around him, grip too loose to do anything but tease. Ryan strokes the length of him in some sort of timed rhythm with the fingers pressed inside of him, curling just enough to have Shane cry out, reaching down to shove his fingers through Ryan’s hair. 

It’s startling how aware his body is. Through the blanket, he can feel the clumps of grass, uneven dirt patches. Even behind the gorgeous curtain of Ryan’s wings, he can feel the breeze of the cool night air, chilled against his overheated flesh. He can feel everywhere he’s connected with Ryan; his thigh pressed against Ryan’s ribs, Ryan’s fingers inside him, stretching him open, the steady stroke of his palm against the twitching length of his cock, his lips so sweet against the crease of his hips. It all accumulates and builds until Shane’s shaking from it, begging, whining for Ryan to climb inside of him. 

With Ryan’s waist between his thighs, he reaches up with his hand to touch Shane’s face, coaxing Shane to open his eyes. “You okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” Shane says, because he is. Because maybe he’s not felt something like _this_ before, but he likes the feeling, the all encompassing adoration injected with a desperate need for Ryan to touch him. He loves it, and he loves Ryan, and he just wants to _feel_ it. 

Shane feels fragile, not something he’s used to feeling, but watching as Ryan presses his lips to Shane’s knee, sincere and reverent, makes him feel the most breakable he’s ever been. And still, Ryan handles him so gently he feels safe in his vulnerability.

Every moment, every second, all the words and touching and teasing and laughter and gazing—it all comes to a head here. 

Slowly, Ryan sinks inside of him. One of Shane’s hands presses against Ryan’s chest, the other against his shoulder, and Shane keeps his eyes closed because it’s already too much. Ryan’s breath is ragged, hot against his neck. When Shane opens his eyes, he’s confronted with the entire night sky, the whole breadth of it, wide and expansive, known and unknown. Shane’s always had the feeling that he was much too small to matter, but—

But the touch of Ryan’s lips against his throat, the soft whisper of Ryan’s, “Love you, love you,” makes him feel like in this space, in the time, for just the barest, most vulnerable moment, he matters a lot. 

“Ryan, Ryan, please,” Shane whispers, keeping his eyes on the sliver of the moon. Ryan draws back his hips, and presses back in, and Shane feels full with Ryan inside of him so deep, feels like he’s teetering along the edge of a cliff, and all he wants is for Ryan to take his hand and fling them both over the side of it. Thinks he’d revel in the weightless moment at the edge, and thinks he wouldn’t care about the bottom at all.

Without thinking too hard about it, Shane’s hands drift up Ryan’s back, pressing his palms against the base of his wings and Ryan _keens_ , fucking his hips hard against Shane. Ryan curses, drawing up on his forearms to look down at Shane, and Shane looks up and doesn’t dare look away. Shane tightens his grip, and Ryan’s rhythm changes from slow, to something much bigger, better, _harder_ , pressing his hips against Shane’s so the smack of their skin echoes amongst the canopies of the trees, Shane’s moaning carried away by the wind. Ryan’s wings shudder, and Ryan shivers on top of him. 

“You like that, huh?” Shane asks, because he can’t help himself. Ryan bows his head, and Shane leans up to kiss him, to breathe in the desperate whisper of his name that drips from Ryan’s lips. “When I touch you here, you like it.” 

“Yes, yes, _Shane_ , you feel so good,” Ryan babbles, lips smearing a kiss over Shane’s cheeks, his jaw, and settling to suck against where his pulse thumps fast, fast, fast. 

It’ll hurt in the morning, aching all along Shane’s back, down to his tailbone. His toes might lose all feeling, and his thighs might not stop shaking, but it’s all worth it for the way Ryan licks into his mouth, the hot slide of his tongue sending an exhilarating thrill jolting down Shane’s spine. 

Ryan’s hand slides hot over Shane’s waist, his hip, and holds Shane’s thigh in a tight grip, driving his hips hard. There’s a blinding spike of pleasure that rocks through him, striking hard in his belly, in his chest. He tightens his hold against Ryan’s wing, rescinding one hand to press low against Ryan’s back, drifting lower to grab his ass and pull him in. Their bodies are pressed close enough that Shane’s cock catches against the tense flesh of Ryan’s stomach. 

“Ryan, baby, I need—” Shane cuts himself off with a cry; Ryan’s fingers curl around him, stroking for a handful of moments until Shane is bowing into Ryan, mouth against Ryan’s shoulder as his teeth scrape over hot flesh, shaking. Shane chants Ryan’s name like it’s the only thing his mouth remembers how to say. 

All of that emotion, the affection, the adoration and love and—all of it that had been tucked away inside his chest seems to break out of him. Shane’s knees burrow into Ryan’s ribcage, ankles locked tight around Ryan’s waist. He feels like he’s come undone, bursting out of his seams, like Ryan might be able to see each and every feeling, every single thought that has ever crossed his mind. Shane thinks, in this moment, he’d like to be seen. 

He spills between them, Ryan’s hand hot around him.

Shane can feel Ryan’s fingers carding through his hair, his lips at his temple. Ryan’s slowed now, just the gentle stroke of him inside; Shane opens up for him, unties the hold of his legs so that Ryan can press in properly, and when he does, his whole body shakes, his wings beating so hard the trees around them sway from the force of it. 

As Shane comes down from his own climax, he watches the intensity of Ryan’s, the way he clenches his eyes shut and his mouth drops open with the prayer of Shane’s name dripping from his lips, body pressed so close, hips flush against him—Ryan trembles and gasps, spine arching and wings shivering. Shane watches with awe, and returns Ryan’s gentle gesture as he runs his fingers through Ryan’s hair, settling his hand on Ryan’s back, as he drops against Shane’s body, panting hot and damp against Shane’s shoulders. 

They’re quiet for a moment, sharing reverent touches, holding each other as the world comes back to them, and time restarts, and the universe spits them back out into the reality of gravity. 

“So the wings—” 

“ _Shane_ ,” Ryan huffs. “Not even five minutes.” 

“I’m just saying. You got all—different when I touched them.” 

“I do recall telling you they were sensitive. And you were holding them like you were hanging on for dear life.” 

“Kinda felt like I was,” Shane muses. Ryan laughs, and Shane smiles, but really, for Shane, that it had felt just like that, too cracked open in the moment of it all, from the sheer force of their bodies colliding that Shane needed some sort of grounding. He doesn’t offer that to Ryan, but when Ryan kisses him, it feels like Ryan knows, even in some abstract kind of way. 

“You know, I think I got a better deal than Princess Jasmine, on account of how I can’t feel my legs and all,” Shane says, dropping one arm over his own forehead. 

Ryan wheezes, folding his forearms over Shane’s chest. “You think so?”

“I do.”

They share a look, long enough that Ryan ducks away from it. 

“Did my good boy scout bring stuff for clean up?” Shane asks, fingertips gentle over Ryan’s shoulder. Ryan breathes a laugh and nods his head. 

“Sure did.” 

They untangle from each other, flesh sticky and wet, but they share soft smiles as they clean up and get dressed. Ryan even brought a ziplock bag to collect their trash. 

With the blanket folded back up and packed into Ryan’s bag, they hold hands as they amble back towards the car. Shane looks, one last time, up to the sky. It feels like the moon is winking at him. 

-:-

Ryan leans over when he pulls the car into the parking lot of Shane’s building. “Hey,” he says, prodding Shane gently in the shoulder. Shane’s eyes open. “We’re home.” 

They get out of the car and troop up the stairs, Ryan following Shane.

Ryan’s stomach growls while Shane’s pulling out his keys. They share a smile at the door, and then Shane’s pushing it open and ushering Ryan in before him. Ryan beelines for the kitchen and as Shane enters, he watches Ryan push the refrigerator door closed.

“I’ll make us something,” Shane says. 

Ryan pulls at the end of his shirt. “I need a shower,” he says, “gotta wash you off.” He winks to soften the blow but Shane’s already laughing and leaning in to lick a stripe up the side of Ryan’s face. 

“I’ll wash you off,” Shane says. Ryan ducks out of his reach, twisting away. 

“No! Ugh. God, you’re gross!” Ryan exclaims, pushing at Shane. “Get off me.” 

“Shan’t,” Shane says, mouthing at the shell of Ryan’s ear. Ryan giggles, breathless. He shoves at Shane again, and Shane lets himself be shoved off, pushed up against the counter and caged in with Ryan’s hands on either side of his hips. 

“You’re an idiot,” Ryan says, looking up at Shane. Shane looks down.

“Thought you were gonna have a shower?” 

“Make me something to eat,” Ryan says, and Shane looks pointedly at the places where Ryan is pressed up against him. They share a long look and then Ryan steps back. “Dinner,” he says, and then leaves Shane in the kitchen. 

Shane stays against the counter for a moment, still feeling the warmth of Ryan’s touch. Feeling the warmth of Ryan saying Shane’s place was home. He spares a glance at the hook by the kitchen door. Miscellaneous keys plus one very important one, on its own keyring, look back at him. Shane closes the distance in two long strides, and plucks the key from the hook. 

He holds it in the palm of his hand. It feels strange to be hesitant about this. It’s just a key. Shane closes his hand round it, feeling the bite of the freshly cut teeth. 

When Ryan gets out of the shower, Shane’s made them each a sandwich and the plates are set at their usual places at the little table. Ryan drapes his towel over the back of his chair and sits down. Shane’s already there, waiting. 

Shane lets Ryan get through the first half of his sandwich before he pushes the key across the table between them. “Here,” he says. “For you. So you can come by whenever.” 

Ryan sets the second half of his sandwich down on his plate, and reaches for the key. Their fingers brush, and Shane looks up, catching Ryan’s eyes with his own. 

“Yeah, okay,” Ryan says, and he smiles like the sun’s coming out from behind his eyes. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come find us on tumblr - [Jess](http://sequencefairy.tumblr.com) & [Yesi](http://uneventfulhouses.tumblr.com) <3


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